The Craven boy of Horn Hill
by KidWinTinker
Summary: Samwell Tarly has just arrived at the wall to join his brothers in the night's watch. Samwell Tarly is a coward, but an intellect. Oh, and Samwell Tarly thinks much faster and more practically than he does in the show.
1. Chapter 1

A 700 foot wall of ice stood before Samwell Tarly. It had been a long ride from Horn Hill, Sam had changed transport at King's Landing and Winterfell, but they had arrived at last and the sight of it was more majestic than anything Sam had ever imagined.

He couldn't take his eyes off it as he got off the cart, but was quickly brought back to reality by Rast's quip.

"It's like the horses prayers' have been answered" said Rast, making an obvious reference to Sam's oversized frame. His words were followed by a chorus of laughter all around.

"That's true" thought Sam to himself, "they don't have to put up with your yammering any more." But he kept his words to himself. He had judged Rast to be not incapable of violence. He hadn't had enough time to figure out what background Rast had come from yet, but was convinced that Rast would never grow to be his friend.

The group left the horse cart behind and proceeded towards the base of the wall. Yoren, chewing on his leaf, had once again heartily reminded them of what useless cunts they all were and sent them on their way.

Grenn, Pyp and Rast had become friends along the way. Apparently all that it took was for Grenn to remove a wineskin that he had stolen, and for Pyp to tell a dirty story about Charlotte the Harlot. Samwell however had stayed out of the entire conversation, not saying a single word the whole time. it usually was just a matter of time before they all started making fun of him for his habits and his size.

As the group reached the base of the wall, they began to wonder what they were supposed to do next. The wall was a majestic sight to look at from a distance, but from up close all you saw was ice and that wouldn't impress anyone.

The group looked in both directions trying to see if there was a doorway of some sort that they could perhaps take.

"Can't see no fucking doorway beneath all this ice" mumbled Grenn.

"Actually, we're looking for a lift" said Sam. Everyone froze as they turned to regard him carefully. Sam hadn't realized that he had spoken until they did so, it had been more of an involuntary gesture on his part.

"Its something I read in a book" Sam said and then shrugged, his head tilting slightly towards his left as if to say the credit really belonged somewhere else other than on his head.

"Fatso's right" said Pyp. He pointed at a particular outward bump along the wall. They hadn't spotted it earlier because they were looking for a door, expecting to see some kind of indication along the flat surface of the wall. But Sam's proposition that they might actually be looking for a lift meant that they would start looking for box shaped objects. Those would of course be easier to find since the protrusions would cause a greater amount of snow to fall on them.

Pyp had spotted it the fastest and soon they started making their way towards it.

As they drew closer, it became apparent that Pyp had spotted his target well. The lift was covered entirely by snow and there was a lever to the side of it (also covered in snow), which was probably to be used for sending the lift upwards towards Castle Black which stood atop one of the higher parts of the wall.

The group was startled when Yoren called out from behind.

"What're you sons of bitches doing here?" asked Yoren, wearing an expression that they had never seen on his face before. It was a mixture of incredulity and slight annoyance. "Didn't I tell you lot to find your way in?"

"Yeah, its why we decided to look for the lift you never told us about" spat Rast.

"Which one of you knew about the lift?" asked Yoren, the expression on his face changing. It was now an expression that Sam was however very familiar with – one where its wearer was concealing the fact that he was impressed.

No one ventured an answer, but a few heads turned towards Sam in unison before quickly turning away and that was all that Yoren needed to put the pieces in place.

Yoren quickly nodded his approval and they proceeded towards the lift whose wooden gates opened as if to welcome them to a new world.


	2. The background musings

Sam was worried that when he finally got to Castle Black, that he would be the odd one out much like he had been back home. In fact, he wasn't worried about it so much as petrified. This time it would be worse and he wouldn't even have the comforts that he was used to at home.

Two minutes in and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. The victim was always one, and from all the books he had read it always seemed that whenever a group of boys meet for the first time, the first one to make a mistake pays the heaviest price for it.

In the great hall of castle Black, filled with thieves, rapists, robbers, cutpurses, cutthroats and a motley crew of others mostly looking to avoid the death penalty Samwell looked for at least one other misfit – just one more boy feeling as insecure and out-of-place as he did. Try as he might, he couldn't find any. Nor could he convince himself that perhaps one of the pickpockets was in fact a bigger craven than he was. It _was_ why he was a craven after all.

It had always seemed to Sam that the reason everyone else was generally content and happy, he always agonized over what seemed to his family as an un-necessary annoyance. He simply couldn't force his mind to look away when there was a legitimate danger. He consoled himself that he was in fact not a pessimist- that he really did try to look for the positives in every situation. It wasn't his fault that reality was in fact such a bitter and cruel place. What could poor Samwell Tarly do if the men of the world would rather stick a sword in your belly instead of talking out their problem. Samwell had grown to hate the sound of metal clanging. It was ironinc how he didn't hate the substance itself, he knew that it was used in almost everything and how even though he wasn't particularly averse to loud noises, the two situations falling in together stirred a different sense of dread within him. Most of castle black, much like every other castle, was supported by iron, Sam reminded himself somewhat desperately. He had better get used to the noise it was bound to be there with all the fighting that went on within these walls.

The new recruits were told that they were to line up when Alliser Thorne arrived. Sam had heard of Ser Alliser Thorne well before he had started out on this journey. He was a fierce warrior and a blood thirsty one.

It would be nice to have a way of communicating other than by words, thought Sam on this rather momentous occasion. Letters were fine and he knew his life would be even more depressing without the books that had kept him company all these years. But the reason he enjoyed them was simply because he had a vivid imagination, and that was a gift in itself as well as a curse. It was a redundant comparison but it couldn't be helped as Sam mused about how he had received what seemed like the entire Tarly household's share in intelligence. He liked to think of the faces of the people that he read about. There were portraits available of course. But they were so rare and so far and few in between in all the seven kingdoms. Sam had often contemplated suggesting to his father a trade in which they spend some of the family's gold. He had wanted to suggest hiring a number of painters to paint portraits of famous Lords and Ladies. Samwell Tarly had personally seen and knew enough of Ser Loras Tyrell as well as his beautiful sister Margaery to know that they would almost definitely be interested in such a service. It would be a handsome way to earn the family gold, the likes of which they had not seen before. Alas, Samwell knew his Lord Father all too well. Even though their family was in servitude to the Tyrells, Lord Randall was not disposed towards listening to his eldest son. That had been the case since the time of Samwell's birth, ever since the boy had disappointed showing no skills with a blade and an apparent sever lack of metabolism. It was surprising how often fathers who would be expected to dote on their children lovingly could suddenly turn out to be full of difficulties, when their children fail to live up to their expectations. Sam often thought he could have relied on Dickon to be more understanding. He had done everything expected of an older brother in his estimation.

Alas, what had passed in Samwell's mind as fair siblinghood was not what the young Lord Dickon expected. Either that or the young boy was far too influenced by his father to pay any heed to Samwell. Samwell had never picked up a sword and sparred with Dickon. Not even a wooden one. The Lord Randall Tarly had spent years watching Samwell clumsily fling his wooden stick around, never making a single definitive motion, but instead flailing it around as if he were being dragged around by an out of control rabid canine. Dickon on the other hand was as they called it – a natural. His strokes and movements were well co-ordinated.

The younger brother's talents were noticed by the Lord Tarly. Sam still remembered that evening. His father's delighted expression as Dickon deftly deflected most of the blows inflicted on him by the master of arms. Dickon didn't even _attempt_ to dodge the attacks, he tried defending each with his own weapon.

The lady Florent was impressed too. Sam had thought it was a bit early, but she was already hoping that Dickon would turn out to be as handsome as he was skilled with the sword.

On one occasion, she even resorted to asking Samwell to find out as much as he could from the library about which princes were regarded as the most handsome for their time. This, the request to use Samwell's talents, coming from his mother was so shocking to Sam that he flushed with pride and set about his task before realizing that it was just a cruel joke that was being played on him. He was impervious to social cues in that sense.

But that had been then and this was now. Over the years Sam had read so many many books and that had transformed him into a completely different person. It was no longer easy to slip a lie past Samwell, but the converse was also unfortunately true, much to his detriment. Sam was a compulsive truth teller, and even when he did lie everyone in the room could see how uncomfortable he was. It was a sad fact that Sam was suited neither for battle with a sword nor politics with a swift tongue. No could deny his intelligence though. Sam knew most of what the maesters' knew and then some more.

He never found out if Lord Randall Tarly was aware of all the maesters secretly soliciting his advice and then claiming credit for it. Sam had on occasion thought of protesting but could not bring himself to do so. He had on occasion even thought of not giving the maester's any further advice, until he realized that it was not the maester's who would suffer the most but their patients. The guilt ate at him too much and Sam ended up revealing the secrets he knew - secrets of many majestic herbs and plants, lotions and potions, roots and shoots...

And all the book learning in the world, all the stories of heroes and their fair maidens (and the bitter lies that they did not reveal) did not prepare him for what he saw at the wall.

On this day, the entire gathering was looking at the new recruits from above. It was odd how his entire life, Sam had grown used to being the one ridiculed, the one looked at strangely, despite being the eldest heir of a noble house. Today when standing condemned among the lowest of the low, no one gave him a second glance. It was to Sam as if he had finally made it home.


End file.
